Message-ID: <2075eli$9707151103@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: MyFrThAl@aol.com Subject: REPOST: Mark Aster: Hello, in There (MF) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <970715065313_1657348744@emout09.mail.aol.com> Recent computer problems (the laptop is all better now, at least for the time being, touch wood) and generally woolyheadedness have made me lose track of exactly where I am in my reposting schedule. Apologies if I've reposted this one recently. For anyone wondering what's become of new stories in the series, my only excuse is that I've been doing some non-naughty writing recently; I may add some of it to my Web page (http://users.aol.com/myfrthal/). Feedback very welcome, as always! .. Mark My Friends the Allens -- Hello In There by Mark Aster = = = Note: this story takes place in a fantasy world where vaccines against AIDS and pregnancy are safe and common, and casual sex with strangers is not suicidally stupid. The real world, sadly, is not like this: so don't try this at home! = = = There are still a few trains with old-fashioned corridors and compartments, where you can sit by yourself on a long wooden seat, look out the window, and doze off as the scenery rattles by outside. Then, leaving a station at some small city whose name you didn't notice, someone knocks at the door of the compartment, and wakes you up. "Hello, in there!" she called out, and I shook my head slightly and yawned and said "Hello?" She slid the door open just a crack and looked in with one eye. "Can I come in?" "Of course." Of course. She slipped into the compartment and closed the door behind her back. She was slender, maybe skinny, but not without curves; long black hair rather shaggy, pale skin, a thin cotton dress moving nicely over her body, worn leather shoes. She sat down opposite me, by the window. I thought her face was ordinary until she looked into my eyes. Hers were large and deep and very dark. A gnarled pink scar pulled up her left eyelid and broke the symmetry of her face. She was silent for a long time, looking at me intensely, but with no definite expression. Then her eyes released me, and she turned away and stared out the window. "I hope you don't mind," she said after a long silence, "I don't like to be alone on trains. So fragile." Her back was long, and her position, twisted away from me on the seat, pulled her dress tight over her spine, each vertebra neat and distinct. No bra strap. A dark woody odor came from somewhere. "Fragile?" I asked. She jumped in her seat. Her eyes, wide and surprised, caught me again, and we sat facing each other in silence for another long moment. Then she sighed and wilted, and her eyes shrank. "Sorry," she said. "Sorry, it's just me. Sorry." "No, um, I..." I couldn't think of a sensible reply. Her eyes widened again, her face brightened, and she almost smiled. "I'm crazy." "I know the feeling," I said, grinning. "No, no, really. Really!" Her arms were stiff at her sides, her hands wrapped around the edge of the seat, her knuckles white, her lips smiling. "I was in hospital for five years and six days. Five years and six days! But you know how you get out?" I swallowed and shook my head slightly. Her eyes slid away from mine, and she seemed to be talking to someone over my shoulder. "If you're eighteen, and you're not a danger to yourself and others, and you don't break anything of David's, and you just let them in, then they'll let you go. You know?" I found I was chewing on my lower lip. Her eyes slid back to my face, locked on mine, and she breathed in and out, looking at me, her chest rising and falling, her lips moist. My forehead felt hot. She looked away again. I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "You can go. Or I can. I..." "It's okay," I said, "I like company, too." She sighed, and stared back out the window. I watched her body move softly up and down with her breathing. "I made up a game!" she said suddenly, turning toward me, and then flopping down forward on her seat. "You have a square board," and she tapped her forearms on the wood, outlining a square, "and... do you want to play with me?" She turned halfway onto her side, looking at me. One knee was up, and the dress, not long to start with, slid down, uncovering her thighs. Her legs were long and slender and very good. She licked her lips. "Do you want to play with me?" We passed another train going the other way, rattling and clanging. I think I smiled. "I need to know the rules." And I knelt on the floor of the car, the better to see her board. Her face was suddenly smooth and innocent, except for the scar above her eye, and she turned back onto her stomach, and pointed at the imaginary board, and very earnestly she explained the rules. "This is a place and this is a wall," she said, dividing the board with long fingers and a clear singsong voice. The rules were long and intricate, and gradually they stopped being rules at all. "The King is here between the walls, and unless he can see the Queen, he can't move. In the night, another piece comes between the walls, but the King blocks the way. The Queen is across the board, about to be captured, and the King can't move because he can't see her, and the other piece can't move because the King is in the way. So nothing happens until daylight, but in daylight the King sees that the Queen is gone, and all his other pieces are gone. Only the walls are left, but with no other pieces to watch him, the King can drift over the walls, so there's nothing left at all, and the King leaves the board, off to look for the Queen. And that's the end." She looked at me very seriously, her eyes narrow. She sat up, and I got off of the floor and went back to my seat. The train sped along. I started to say something about the weather, the train, the election. I opened my mouth, but nothing happened. "Does he ever find her?" I asked, finally. "Who?" she said, and then she closed her eyes, bent down her head, and massaged her eyebrows and forehead with the fingers of both hands. The middle finger of her left hand moved rhythmically along the rough tissue of the scar. "I have some aspirin if you want," I offered. She tilted her head back, eyes still closed, body limp. "There's no pain," she said softly, "there's never any pain at all." Her neck was long and smooth and pale, a few tangles of long black hair crossing over, straggling down over her chest. Outside the window, a row of dirty brick factory buildings rushed by, an empty lot, a small river. Someone went by in the corridor, bumping softly against our door in passing. "I like you!" she said suddenly, her eyes open again, deep and black. "You didn't leave, and you haven't tried to hit on me." She stood up, legs apart. I looked up at her; the scar above her eye seemed redder. She walked forward and lowered herself into my lap, facing me, her thighs straddling me, her body pressing against me. I didn't move. The smell of her and the warm female weight of her were irresistably erotic, and I felt my body responding. She put her hands behind my head, twined fingers in my hair, pulled my face towards hers. "Do you want to -- kiss me?" she whispered, low and intense. Her lips were thin but supple, suddenly entrancing. Her eyes were deep and hungry, her breath hot. "I wouldn't want to take advantage..." I started, and stopped. Calmly, she backed away from me and sat on her seat, her legs tucked under. "Take advantage of a lunatic?" she asked. "You're not sure I can give informed consent?" "I'm not sure." She nudged one shoe off with the toe of the other. Her foot was thin and bony. "There are lots of me in here, you know. Is that it?" "They might not all want the same thing?" Treading carefully. She slipped off the other shoe. "There are lots of you in there also! They just," and she made an entirely sane and very wry face, "they just usually agree on things. Right?" "Usually, I guess." Her hand on the seat beside her pounded rhythmically, slapping the palm against the smooth wood. Her eyes held me. "So what if every single one of us in here wants you to make love to her? What then?" She stood again, abruptly, swaying gently with the movement of the train. She reached both hands under her skirt, and slowly slipped her panties down her pale thighs, down her long legs, over her bare feet. "What then?" she said, low, almost whispering again. She twisted the damp fabric in her hands, and stepped to me, her knees against mine. "Trust me. I know what I want." She looked at me quickly, then looked down. She dropped her panties in my lap, and began to gather the front of her dress up in her hands. As it rose past her thighs, pale creamy skin with a few dark beauty marks, I felt my blood pounding. "Can you trust someone who's just a little bit different from you?" she breathed. I reached forward and ran my palms up the bare skin of her flanks. Her pubic hair was dark and tangled. She let go of her dress, and the fabric fell back over my hands. She reached down and slowly undid my belt. Her lips on mine were soft and sweet and hungry; her flesh under my hands was smooth and resilient. Her fingers stroked and squeezed me, and she slid her body forward into my lap, trapping my swelling penis between her hand and the open softness between her legs. I slipped my tongue between her lips, and she shuddered and moaned. I took her buttocks in my hands, and pulled her body closer to me, and she moved slowly up, and slid down over me, just the tip of my staff parting her lips and moving inside. "Do you trust me?" she said, and then her mouth opened in a long slow sigh, and slowly she lowered herself, her hips circling, and the hot wetness engulfed me. She put her arms around me and moved slowly up and down. I moved my hands up under her dress, over the warm pale miracle of her skin. I took her breasts in my hands and softly rubbed her nipples; she moaned and kissed my face and moved her hips faster, and my penis swelled and lengthened inside her. My hips began to move, thrusting into her, escaping control. "I'm going to..." I tried to speak, to slow her down, but she kissed my mouth again and thrust back against me with her body, and as I groaned and came and filled her with semen, she tightened her arms around me, clutching her body against me with all her strength and making small high noises deep in her throat. Two more long pulses of pleasure, and my body relaxed under her on the seat. "It's more whether I can trust myself," I whispered into her dark hair. Her head was on my shoulder, her arms and legs still around me, her body limp in my lap. Then I felt the wetness on my shoulder, and just sat and stroked her hair while she cried and my penis slipped out of her body. Eventually her breathing got deeper and more regular, and I thought she was asleep. I closed my eyes and touched her back and listened to the wheels moving over the tracks. She moved her head. Her cheek slid against mine, her nose rubbed across my face. Her lips closed over mine, hot and urgent and passionate. Her hands moved over me. Between us, my cock hardened again as her tongue probed into my mouth, and her legs tensed on my lap. She pressed her body against me, and whispered, her lips touching my face, between kisses. "You want me again, don't you? You want to have me again. You're going to put your prick into me again, and fuck me. God, god, GOD!" And she bobbed in my lap, her hand down between her legs, and guided me quickly into her, and again she thrust her hips relentlessly at me, sliding up and down on my cock, kissing my mouth, her eyes closed now, shut tight, the scar crumpled above her left eye, breath quick and deep. Her ass bounced up and down in my lap, she impaled herself urgently and eagerly, and she threw back her head and she came. Her cunt contracted rhythmically again and again, and her hands clutched painfully at my shoulders. Just as her thrusts began to slow, I came inside her, and she opened her mouth and drew a long gasping breath as I filled her again. Almost before I stopped spurting, she was out of my arms and across the compartment, curled on her seat looking out the window, her head on her arms. I wiped myself gingerly with a tissue, reached across with another one and laid it gently on her foot. She took it without turning, put her hand down and awkwardly, gracefully, cleaned herself off. I picked up her panty from the floor and put it on the seat beside her. "You won't tell David?" she asked. I touched the edge of her foot with a finger, tracing one of the long bones. "Promise," I said, "Are you travelling far?" She made a small angry sound, stil not looking at me. "You want to take me home with you? Put me in a taxicab? Introduce me to your pregnant girlfriend? Take me out of the closet at parties? Is THAT it?" I licked my lips and sat back. "My station's next," she said, turning to me and smiling. The train began to slow. "You know? I really LOVE being out." Her palm was tapping the seat again. "Sometimes when I'm with people, those others go all the way away. Sometimes." She stood up, holding her panty and shoes, opened the door. Went out. I shook my head suddenly, and bolted up. "Are you going to be okay?" I shouted down the corridor after her. She looked back, smiling a little too wide. "I don't know. I don't know!" I didn't follow her, didn't see her stand with her arms braced as the train came to a stop, didn't watch her feet step from the train to the platform. I sat by my window. As the train pulled out, I saw her out there looking, and I waved. She waved back, her face smooth and young and earnest, and the train pulled away. My Friends the Allens -- Hello In There by Mark Aster The End -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /